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Submission for April Issue, 2023 (Vol. 4, No. 1) is going on. Last date for submission is 31 March, 2023.

FROM OCEAN TO OCEAN



FROM OCEAN TO OCEAN

-         Nandini Sahu (India)

 

And you started with a proposition,

“I thought life was complete, life came to a full circle.

And then there was this oceanic blue rain.

Perchance I had forgotten love.

Perchance life was droning.

But see, now new streams are flowing into me

from ocean to ocean,

from salt to sweet water.”

And then I whispered,

“My quests end in you, my desires flow into you.

You are my politically incorrect allusion.

Shall we create

our hall of memories

with some resolution here?”

 

Ahh, my merman!

Majestically liberated,
the bay amplifies out into the sea
to pacify its lordly peninsula, spasm its seashore,
calms its surfs to a silent shimmer,
then succumbs itself to a complete whole
to ocean's inexpressible delusion.

Form ocean to ocean.

 

What does my goblet of ocean cleave to?

You may ask me!
I am the story of

grandeur of purple and spangle of gold.
Warm greens and blissful blue
inoculated with the sunlight through
unruly ripples that idly roam

here and there.
Plummeting waves with gallant foam
sands and pebbles that chase and go ashore.
Shaman currents softly slide
potent magic charm of the epochs old
this does the goblet of the marine hold.

A universal hoary gray
with rigging of sand array
to keep it from obliterate display
in the track terrestrial ashore.

 

 

Love, have you seen our concourse in the sea?
The streets with no abodes to vault them,
and only the shadows around them!
Yet running as straight as can be
sallow in the blue,
corresponding too,
stretching afar
larger than the bar
in the atoll and far away
further than the arch of the sheltering bay.
Love, have you seen the avenues of the sea?

Grey pitch, and greyer ocean
surf alongside the coast and in my heart--

they itch your name

from ocean to ocean.
My lips need not speak anymore.

 

When sliding down the Atlantic, the colossal,

I witness
storm-wind like the Phoenix.
Landward in his fury he scourges
the ocean surges
weighed down with weed from the crux.

Night hails and stars their wonted music carry on
in malleable bottomless nadir of the firmament
in a mystical blanket of indistinct obscurity laze.
The vast stretch of the subterranean
the hoary paths of moonlit snooze
the mount and drop for ever pensive
with the splendid heaving of the maritime.
Night will approach very soon

with tenfold darkness where the sinister is so abrupt
black waters will become back waters sooner or later

in a land-locked yowl.
The sea cliffs slide down the blizzard rambles
yielding the abysmal nap
in the glossy the frothy margin, white as snow,
reverberation of smother echoing rising away

midnight carping of captive waves.

There is some yearning in the untrodden coppices.
There is an ecstasy on the solitary shore.
There is this civilization where none encroaches.
By the deep ocean, there is music in its roar.
I love the Pacific no less

but the Nature that produced ‘him’ more.
Recite our conferences, where I bargain the core.
From all I that may be someday, or I have been before
to mingle with the Universe with this texture
what I can never decipher,

yet I cannot ever, ever recover.

 

You heard it all and said, “My blue lady, you have arrived

to live and love, now and here. And

forever.

Your oceanic blue is my inundation. I am

flowing from ocean to ocean!”

I smiled back. I think loved back too.

“You are just me, yet another!”

 

 

****